


An Unending Game

by goldenslumber



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: "Just Friends", F/M, Lies, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:05:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenslumber/pseuds/goldenslumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite their feelings for each other, Jaime and Brienne agree to be 'just friends'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unending Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt:
> 
> #88 – “Despite their feelings for each other, they agree to be 'just friends'. Cue lots of awkward situations and inadvertent closeness.”
> 
> The moment I read this.. *cue troll face* Silly and inaccurate. Enjoy.

It's a contest; a  _game_.  
  
Podrick tries to ignore it best he can, and Pia likes to gush about it to Peck. Little Lew Piper doesn't notice the game all too much, but he's been used in it a couple of times, mostly from Jaime's manipulation. They need someone in the room with them, after all. Why not the kid? That's the best option, Jaime has decided. Piper doesn't notice the awkwardness, whereas Podrick adds more to the situation and Pia smiles too much in that infuriatingly  _secret_  way.  
  
“We're going to be friends,” Jaime tells Ilyn Payne. The man is mute, after all, and he'd told his sparring partner worse before on their late night dances. He pants and fingers the bruises forming underneath the mail over his ribcage. “We are friends. Just friends, of course. Warriors.”  
  
He expects Payne to make that crude clanking sound. But when Jaime looks up the man has raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“What?” Jaime says, straightening. “We are.”  
  
There is disbelief and amusement in the way Payne's lips twist.  
  
“Have you seen that wench? She's.. nothing. A warrior. A knight. I'm not..  _we're_  not..” Jaime wants to wipe that stupid look off Ilyn's face. If he still had the upper-hand in swordplay, he would have dove into the spars again, to distract him. Only, he doesn't. He's tried, really. His shield is in splinters. The tip of his sword hovering over the dirt, shoulders slumping for one entire moment. “She wouldn't, anyway.”  
  
Now, Ilyn laughs. Jaime examines the man's face; it seems to agree.  
  
 _Aye, she wouldn't._  
  
That's how the contest starts. Jaime begins to think about the unspoken agreement between them to be just friends. They may be traveling together, moving to the Vale, in search of Sansa Stark, but they can be platonic throughout the forcibly close contact. He's sure of it, easy in his arrogance over it, for her sake.  
  
Sevens know Brienne is stubborn enough to participate.  
  
Her partner and excuse is always Pod. Podrick always seems to need her help, or she needs to speak to him, or train him, or hunt with him. Jaime tries to alternate between Peck and Piper. More often than not, Jaime has to depart and discipline his squires for no apparent reason other than that he's begun to notice the way the wench's body moves while astride her horse. In a most,  _unfriendly_  manner.  
  
Pia whispers in Peck's ear, “Think they've ever bedded together?”  
  
The boy reddens, because he feels Jaime's eyes, sharp and knowing, on him. “I.. I'm not sure.”  
  
Podrick isn't as old as Peck, but he has the good sense to steer his horse away from the two. He trots up to his lady and hunches in the saddle the way she does. Jaime reins up to Peck's side and silences both in a glance. Now, he can't get the idea out of his head.  
  
She's winning the contest.  
  
At night, when they set up camp, he tries to avoid approaching her. That's the telltale clue of his losing streak, in his mind. The fact that he doesn't trust himself around her, because his tongue likes to move before he thinks, because the others are whispering about them behind their backs. He smiles when she looks up, though, and she turns her eyes aside each time. She just keeps winning.  
  
At dinner, sitting around a fire, they are directly across from each other. Unfortunate for him, because the firelight accentuates her flesh. He's using Piper, again, seated at his side, telling him to relate a story about his childhood. Jaime's only half listening; his eyes seem to note everything she's doing.  
  
Pod mutters something to Brienne, and then suddenly, both of them are embarrassed, red-faced.  
  
He can't help himself. “Something the matter?” Jaime asks.  
  
The two flash eyes up at him. Podrick looks guilty and he shuffles his feet. Brienne reddens further and she has this new fidget, where her hand comes up to brush her knuckles against her ruined cheek. It's as if she wants to hide it, if only for a moment, but in the end she only draws people's eyes to the cheek.  
  
Jaime merely notices that through the thin fingers of smoke, the blue of her eyes is outlined.  
  
“Nothing,” Brienne says.  
  
She is a terrible lair.  
  
That night is colder than usually. Winter is heavy on their travels, and Peck and Pia seem to be louder tonight, shifting underneath their blankets. Brienne sees Jaime shiver in his own bed and tightens her covers around her shoulders. She turns over and stares at the stars and wonders if Jaime would consider it more than friendly to offer him her body for warmth. It sounds unladylike, in that wording. Then again, she was never much of a lady.  
  
She prays to the Maiden for strength. The first time. She wants to win this contest.  
  
But she loses because she begs the Mother to keep him warm. Safe, too. Whole.  
  
The next day's ride is spent in snow crunching silence. Their group is small, and has more burdens than protection. Piper and Pia certainly won't hold up long in a fight, whereas Peck and Podrick can hold their own fine enough. Jaime likes to consider himself less of a burden, but still not as well suited a knight as the wench and Payne. They ride in the front; Jaime watches them from his place in the rear, how Ilyn sits stiff in the saddle and Brienne hooks her shoulders. They are both an ugly sight, a frightening sight, really. Pock-faced and broken-faced, thick and tall and muscled, their swords imposing. Other travelers see them and shy away in an instant. If no one guesses she is the Maid of Tarth, the rumored murderer of Renly Baratheon, and that he is Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice, murderer to more than enough, not to mention Ned Stark.. then they are clever enough to know Jaime is a Lannister and they do not approach.  
  
Jaime can't help but notice the way Brienne winces when they come across an inn and everyone is eager to stay a night. Podrick pales, too. Friends can ask about that, right? Concern can be shared between friends. Jaime slides to the wench's side as she watches a stable boy unsaddle the horses. “Do you disapprove of this place?” he asks, gesturing a hand.  
  
“No. It's fine.” Her lips press together. Jaime tries to find the stable more interesting than her mouth.  
  
“I can't help but notice.. some displeasure. Podrick wasn't too sure about the pile of mud out there. And you see to be avoiding the smithy..”  
  
Brienne sighs and shifts. Her knuckles brush her cheek. “We were here, before. It's different though.”  
  
“Different how?”  
  
Brienne turns her eyes about the area, her voice is grim. “New owners.”  
  
There are two rooms that the old man behind the bar can spare. He demands a high price for both, and even more for dinner. Brienne pays for Podrick and tries to help Pia, but Jaime pays for his own squires and Pia, and himself. Ilyn only wants ale.  
  
The others settle at the tables in the front room, and Jaime moves toward the stairs, meaning to put his things up there. (He does not trust most of the workers of the inn.) But he pauses when a shadowed shape of a man rises from his seat in the corner of the room, heading straight for the wench.  
  
Brienne stutters in her walk, her face goes slack for a moment and the glass in her hand is almost dropped. The man swoops forward and steadies it there, wrapping his fingers around hers. He smiles, the scar on the man's face shifting with it. “I thought..” Brienne says, breathes, and the man laughs.  
  
Jaime sets his things down and heads over, trying to be slow. “A friend?” he asks her when he nears.  
  
The man flicks his eyes to Jaime, smiles wider, and looks back to Brienne. “Found him, then?”  
  
Brienne doesn't answer him. She pulls her hand from his and places the glass on the table beside Podrick. When she looks back at the man she is still incredulous, and impossibly, guilty. Jaime doesn't understand. “She found me,” Jaime says back, in her place, cautious. “Who are you?”  
  
“Hyle Hunt, and apparently, my betrothed thought to leave me hanging. Literally.”  
  
“I was going to-!” Brienne objects, stumbling over her words.  
  
Hunt shrugs. “No worries, Brienne. I forgive you. They let me go anyway. They didn't see any reason I should die for the neglect of my wife-to-be. Considering, she's already been unfaithful.” Hunt's eyes are glittering with his amusement, when they go back to Jaime.  
  
“Wife-to-be?” Jaime asks, uncertainly. The disbelief is there, but there is a peculiar itch in his right hand. One that urges him to touch her shoulder or a wrist, or the hair, maybe simply, wrap around her waist; whether in search of her true answer or her reassurance, or to reassure her.. or to simply show possessiveness, he does not know. (He suspects that it is merely in search of Brienne's feeling on this claim.)  
  
“You didn't tell him?” Hyle asks Brienne, sharply. “Nothing? At all?”  
  
“I.. I was going to.. at some point..”  
  
“She's still out there, looking, you know?”  
  
“I know she is,” Brienne says.  
  
Jaime jumps into the conversation. “Tell me what? Who is she?”  
  
“Nothing.” Brienne eyes are burning into Hunt's. “Nothing of import.”  
  
Hyle stares back for a minute. Then he turns and considers Jaime. “Brienne's agreed to marry me.”  
  
 _No,_  Brienne thinks,  _but the lie will be enough._  She can't tell Jaime about Lady Stoneheart until they have Sansa, and then they can return the girl back to what's left of her mother. It was not hard to tell Jaime at Pennytree that she knew Sansa was in the Vale – she doesn't, of course, but that's far enough away to think about things, to find a plan. She hadn't expected to run into Hyle..  
  
After all, she'd left the man with the brotherhood without banners as a hostage, once she falsely claimed her husband-to-be, as to sweeten his use against her. Purposely she'd tried to forget him, to remind herself that she saved Podrick and her oath was to protect Jaime, not Hyle.  
  
Now, Jaime's smile is amused and he glances between the two. “Lovebirds, are you?”  
  
“Not the usually kind, but we hold our own in a bed, if you know what I mean,” Hyle replies.  
  
Brienne turns molten red and feels her stomach flip over when Jaime's eyes widen a bit, then his face turns unreadable. He hides anything else he feels (disgust, Brienne expects) behind his stiff words, “Right. You'll be traveling with us, then?” Hyle nods and Brienne clenches her hands, and Jaime nods, turns, and disappears upstairs with his things.  
  
Podrick whispers at her when she takes her seat at the dining table, “But I thought..”  
  
“No,” Brienne replies. She doesn't want to make him a liar, but.. “Agree to it, okay? For now.”  
  
“Yes, ser. My lady.”  
  
Pia asks Hyle a lot of questions about how it came about.  _Them._  Brienne grunts her answers, but Hunt is eager to reply. His stories are always a little false. He has made his own game of it.  
  
That night, when he tries to slip into her bed, she threatens him in a low hiss and he sleeps on the floor next to the squires. Jaime, in the second room they'd purchased, listens through the wall – for what, he does not admit.  
  
Once they leave the inn, though, there is no threats to murmur. The nights are cold, and Hyle slips into the blankets behind her and presses warmth along her back. Brienne is glad that he does not try to do more, but sometimes she closes her eyes and imagines it is  _him_ , instead. (Another reason, that she is failing.)  
  
Jaime spits his objections at Ilyn when they practice somewhere under the moon, far away. “What is that.. excuses of a couple? That's.. he's not good for her. At all. You've seen him, yes? The way he looks at her, as if she's just land and a title. Doesn't she see that? I thought she was smarter.” He misses a block in his frustrated rant and Payne throws him off his feet with a stinging blow to the neck. Jaime rolls to the side, clutching the throb and gags in the dirt. “She's hiding something from me. I don't know what. I thought she trusted me more..” Jaime doesn't get back up, he throws his sword away and falls onto his back, staring up at the stars, wondering when his wench lost all her loyalty to him.  
  
The next morning Podrick is telling Pia something about when Hyle and Brienne fought together on their previous travels. He is quiet about it, while Pia is invested and Jaime can't help but overhear and watch as Brienne's lips press together, tighter and tighter. After a few hours of riding, he finds himself admitting freely that he wants to know the story about her broken cheek, about the bruises and rope burn around her throat, that have faded. He wants to reach out a foot, stretch it and kick Hyle out of the saddle. He can admit that, now. Because friends can want that, of course.  
  
He isn't losing, he's being a good friend. Friends don't let their friends marry bad.  
  
The first time he brings it up is when they are out hunting together. Well, she hunts, he tracks, because the crossbow they've snagged isn't well-suited for men with only one hand. It's just easier to pin a rabbit with an arrow rather than a sword's blade.   
  
“Hyle says you two met while you were both within Renly's army.”  
  
Brienne stalls slightly at the mention of both Hyle and Renly, but breathes deeply and jerks her head in what is supposed to be a nod. Outwardly she is focusing on the fox tracks that they stumbled over. Inwardly, she is circling the game in her head, looking for loopholes or potential failings. If Lady Stoneheart is brought up, she is sure Jaime will be angry; won't want to be her friend any longer. Hyle is the safer option of the two, until honesty is available. “Yes,” she says. “We did.”  
  
“Was it love at first sight?” Jaime japes.  
  
“No.” Brienne remembers  _their_  cruel game. Her voice is darker, softer in past pain; “Not quite.”  
  
Jaime surveys her face. “I do not think it is a well match.”  
  
“It is the only match I will have,” Brienne answers, honestly. It is painfully true. “A good one.”  
  
“He merely wants Tarth.” Jaime insists.  
  
“I know.” It is the emotionless way she says it that irks Jaime the most.  
  
“You deserve better.”  
  
Brienne shrugs off that line. Embraces it in her heart, warms her in her chest, because that is  _nice_  to hear. Her next words are a lie,“I take what I can get,” and that is not true because if she did that, she would be in Evenfall Hall, hair pinned, dressed in dresses, and would not know how to use a sword. If she accepted her fate, what the world had given her, she would an ugly wife to an old man, and would be playing the part of a painstakingly false 'Lady'. She does not take what she can get, but find her own ways and aspires to what she wants.  
  
Jaime does not know or see.  
  
He is too disappointed in her to do much else but shake his head in disgust.  
  
The game continues.  
  
Hyle delights in it and pokes fun at it when he and Brienne are alone. This aggravates her, and she works hard to treat Hyle decently in front of everyone else. It would not be well to ruin the cover story, that Jaime believes, for now.  _For now,_  she reminds herself.  _For now,_  Hyle laughs,  _but you want him, you know you do. I know you do. Kingslayer's whore_  – but that is not said in malice, more in banter, more in tease, lighthearted, and not cruel. Brienne wishes it were cruel, so she has an excuse to silence him in a more than unfriendly way.  
  
Hyle kisses her one afternoon as he helps her dismount and Brienne is too stunted to do anything but go stiff underneath his lips and flush when he pulls away. After they part, Hyle turns to fiddle with the horse's saddle, unconcerned for Brienne's unblinking stare. There is a spreading grin on his face; she notices the way his eyes flick behind her back more than once. She turns to find Jaime staring.  
  
That night is the second time Jaime goes to Brienne with objections over her husband-to-be.  
  
“Don't you think your father will be disappointed in your match?” he asks her offhandedly. No one is listening, everyone is asleep, they are on guard together, huddled around the embers of their fire.  
  
“No,” Brienne answers. “My father will be glad that I have finally found a husband.”  
  
“Glad, but not proud. Don't you want him proud?” Brienne turns her eyes to meet Jaime's gaze. Something twists in his chest when he sees offense arise in those eyes. It has been a long,  _long_  time since he's been able to offend her with his words. “That was rude of me. Of course he's proud of you.”  
  
Brienne shakes her head and tips her face away from him. “Is your father proud of you?” she asks.  
  
Jaime laughs, ruggedly.  _No._  “I don't think any of his children ever made him proud.”  
  
Jaime wakes Peck and Pod when it's their turn for watch. Brienne turns reluctantly to her bedroll and Hyle and, then, after a moment, she turns away from the two and stays near the fire. She will lose this once, because now she is thinking of her father and Tarth, and staring at the fire is much more comforting than the star. Up there, in the heavens, it's easier to remember just how vast the world is, how insignificant somethings are at times, and that there are hundreds of others out there, people she knows and might miss, and still holds a vow toward.  
  
Jaime prays to the Father that night. But decides that he'll never do it again. He is not much of a father, considering Joffrey, and there is Tommen, whom he left under the erratic control of his sweet sister, and the daughter that he is suddenly wondering if he should acknowledge – if he should tell them he is proud of them, merely as an uncle, so that they know what that must be like.  
  
Hyle kisses Brienne three more times; each worse than the last. Ilyn cackles by the third, and he can see Jaime's scowling face. “Don't they have priorities?” he grumbles that night at their swordplay.  
  
 _At least they are not f***ing at night._  
  
Both are certain they are losing the game by the time they reach the mountainous path to the Vale. There are tribes in this area, snow, too, and freezing winds. One tumble could lame a horse, or snap a squires neck. The one good thing is that there are less people; no one seems to be moving to the Bloody Gate at this time of year and at this point in the nearly finished war.  
  
The travel is hard and long, but eventually they make it to the Vale. There is some frost bite on Pia's toes and a lot of bruises on everyone else, all over, but they are whole. There wasn't much time for talking or games with such harsh travel. Within the Vale, that is a different story. Jaime is recognized as a Lannister at the gate. They are given comfortable rooms and food; they are, after all, claimed to the Iron Throne and it would not be well to mistreat the uncle of the king.  
  
Both remember why they hate courtly life.  
  
Brienne spends much time whispering with Hyle over the fact that it's time to tell Jaime about Lady Stoneheart. There is no Sansa as Brienne promised and Jaime has mentioned that in passing once or twice over an evening meal. Littlefinger is promised to visit them soon, and Jaime wishes to leave before the man can reach them. “We take ship and go north,” Jaime decides. “It's the best option.”  
  
“Yes,” Brienne agrees, absently.  
  
She must tell him.  
  
But how?  
  
Eventually, Jaime finds a note across his bed linens telling him to meet her out in the gardens at midnight. This gives him pause. Most friends do not meet in private places at the hour of the dead.  
  
He goes anyway.  
  
“You know, wench, I believe we first met at this similar time,” Jaime comments as he approaches her from behind. Brienne is early, of course, tense and staring at the icicles that hang from the tree branches. Truthfully, Lady Catelyn met up with Jaime at midnight and Brienne stayed at the door.. it was a while later that the wench actually entered the room to meet the infamous Jaime Lannister.  
  
And how much has changed; he can feel it whipping in the frosted wind.  
  
“Ser.” Brienne ignores his first statement, is serious in the face.  
  
Jaime grow cool himself. “My Lady. Is there..”  
  
“I have not been honest with you,” she says, stiffly. “About much.”  
  
“If this is about Hyle, let's not,” Jaime decides wiry. He had resigned himself over her choice while they made their struggle to the Vale and he had watched the two warm each other late at night. Who was he to make her doubt her decision for herself? “Have my blessings.”  
  
Brienne's expression falters and she blinks at Jaime. Then she rubs at her cheek and looks away. “I am not marrying Hyle.” Jaime opens his mouth, unsure if he wants to encourage this or not, when Brienne continues, “I never was going to.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“It was a lie.” Jaime raises an eyebrow.  _Why lie about that?_  “To cover up the.. other lie.”  
  
“I suppose no one shall call you the Maiden of Truth.”  
  
“No.” She winces. It is cold out, though, and there is not long before the sun is up and they will not have any privacy of any sort. So she continues to speak. She tells him everything, about all of it; from the very beginning to the very end. Things from meeting Hyle, to the hand she cut off in his revenge, to Podrick, to Gendry Waters, the Inn, Lady Stoneheart, her wounds, the promise.. the meeting with Hyle again, the lies.. everything, until her voice is raw and her breath is as cold as the air around them.  
  
When she is done, Jaime numbly shifts and ask, “Finished then? Nothing more? Might as well get it all off your chest, wench, while we're here.”  
  
Brienne thinks of the invisible game; feels it tug between them now. “Nothing more,” she says.  
  
“Oh, good.”  
  
She waits for his anger, or his irritation, or  _anything._  Nothing comes. Jaime stares off in the distance.  
  
“Well..” she begins.  
  
“I have my own piece, then,” Jaime decides, twisting his gold hand more comfortably against his stump. “Nothing quite so spectacular as any of yours, but it's fine enough.”  
  
“I shall listen.”  
  
“I am not a very good friend,” he admits. “I am out of practice there, you must forgive me.”  
  
“You are a fine friend,” Brienne assures awkwardly.  
  
“No. Most friends do not think of their friends as I seem to.”  
  
“I..” Brienne tries to understand his face. “I do not know what you mean.”  
  
“Of course not.” Jaime sighs and rubs at his jaw. “Do you recall when I told you that you deserve better?”  
  
“In concerns of Hyle, yes,” she says.  
  
“No,” he counters. “In concerns of all men.”  
  
Brienne is uncertain now. “All men?”  
  
“Even me,” Jaime says, certainly. He does not look at her; he can not.  
  
“Even you..” she echoes, quietly, mystified. Her brow draws tight; because she thinks she knows what he's saying, but she doesn't want to assume, and she is assuming something that makes her lose the game completely – and there are no squires around to shove in the way and prevent this. “Jaime..”  
  
He turns to her abruptly, bows slightly, and takes her hand into his. The freckled flesh is cold and his fingers grip hers in an attempt to warm them, if only momentarily, as he cordially presses his lips into the back of hand. “Goodnight, my Lady,” and he departs, leaving her alone in the snowy garden, blushing.  
  
Each can hardly breathe for the rest of the night. Both know the game has been shattered.  
  
Everyone is glad for it.


End file.
